


But Thinking Makes It So

by Madophelia



Series: Drabbles & One-Shots [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, M/M, References to Shakespeare, Shakespeare Quotations, Teenlock, Twisting shakespeare for my own ends, Unilock, shakespeare au, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madophelia/pseuds/Madophelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock are doing Hamlet for extra credit. Except, Sherlock has been pushing John away recently and the lines of the play are a little close to home.</p><p>[Based on a prompt from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/fleetwood_mouse">Fleetwood-mouse</a>.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Thinking Makes It So

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fleetwood_mouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleetwood_mouse/gifts).



This was cruel. Bad enough Sherlock had turned him away, told him he’d never loved him, enforced a separation. But now, now they had to rehearse this scene. This dreadful scene where a mirror of Sherlock’s own words had to come from John’s mouth.

“…Now the time gives it proof, I loved you once.”

“Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.”

-

_Three nights ago._

_“Perhaps I did you love you.Or something much like it.” Sherlock said, stalking up and down the stage, still wearing his costume. “But I don’t any more.”_

_John regretted signing up for this play. No extra credit was worth it. A traditional casting of a Shakespeare play with a full-male cast had seemed like such a good idea at the time. When he’d been cast as the lead in Hamlet he was overjoyed, more so to discover his Ophelia was being played the ridiculously good looking Sherlock Holmes._

_How could he have predicted that they’d fall in love? How could he have known that three weeks into production he’d wind up in Sherlock’s bed. Tangled around him in ways that made John wonder if Sherlock’s body, with its hard lines and sharp angles had been made for the sole purpose of fitting against his._

_Their chemistry on stage had been electric. Charged in a way that they had to keep help back. Hamlet wasn’t a love story, it was a tragedy. Up until this point, John had wondered if the love story was happening off-stage, it certainly seemed like it. Now, he was becoming aware that this was also a tragedy in the making._

_“I thought you did,” John replied, his voice cracking despite his attempts to prevent it, “You were certainly acting like you did. I don’t understand.”_

-

“You should not have believed me; for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it: I loved you not.”

It breaks John to say these words. His performance is lacking today and he knows it. Thrown by the torturous memories it dredges up. Of Sherlock, standing there, hips and waist clad in female clothes but painfully male beneath them. John knew. He’d seen it. He’d held it in his hands only hours before the fight. He isn’t sure what changed.

-

_Three nights ago._

_“I am a very good actor, John.”_

_“Obviously.”_

_Sherlock fidgets, his hands seem to skim the folds of his dress as if looking for a pocket to shove them in to. Finding none, his arms fall limp at his sides._

_“I don’t understand.” John said again, softly._

_“No.” Sherlock sighs, “I can’t explain. All you need to get into your head is that this is over, I never loved you.”_

_“You did.” John insists, moving towards him as if to lay a hand upon his shoulder, arm, face, who knows. He never gets that far._

_Sherlock whirls away from him, throwing up his own hand in defence as though John’s touch is a burning surface that must be avoid at all costs._

_“I didn’t.” Sherlock is shaking, beads of sweat are breaking out on his brow beneath the hot light, not yet turned down from tech._

_“Sherlock…”_

_“No!” Sherlock’s hands are in his hair now, pulling, gripping the strands so tightly it looks painful. Maybe thats the point._

_“It was a lie. You needed to believe that I did. Please… Please believe me. It’s important you believe me.”_

_“Why is it important?”_

_Sherlock’s eyes meet his, there is a world of explanations hiding in those eyes but John isn’t smart enough to understand. Sherlock would read everything if he was in this position, but John can’t._

_“I never loved you,” Sherlock says, “You have no connection to me whatsoever, no one can ever say you meant a damn thing to me.”_

-

Sherlock’s voice is the perfect pitch between masculine and feminine when he replies.. John isn’t sure how he does it, wrangling that sultry baritone into this soft and melodious tone.

“I was the more deceived.”

And suddenly John does understand. It was all a lie. Sherlock is a damn fine actor, and they will both received extra credit in their classes for this production. The real acting however, was not done on stage but off it.

“You didn’t mean it.” John says suddenly dropping out of character.

“John?” The student director says, “Is everything okay?”

“You were lying,” John insists, ignoring the impatient sighs of a director who had been interrupted in these rehearsals more than once. Though usually, by Sherlock proclaiming something as ‘illogical’ or ‘completely absurd’.

“I—”

“Someone got into your head and convinced you that being with me was wrong.”

Sherlock’s mouth is slightly parted, slack with all the things he cannot say, as if opening his mouth will allow them to fall out without having to try.

“They’re wrong,” John says moving towards him, laying his hand cupped along his jaw. The smooth skin devoid of any stubble is soft beneath his fingers.

“Caring is not an advantage,” Sherlock croaks out, “Ophelia kills herself.”

John chuckles. “Ophelia loses everyone,” he says tipping his head slightly and drawing near until they are nearly kissing, but not quite.

They breath each other in for a moment, hot air drifting back and forth between them in a way that has become so familiar so quickly. How can this be wrong? What disadvantage could be found here amongst their shared, secret space? There is nothing outside of this sphere, no worldly endeavours are taking place around them, time is frozen in their wake and all energetic motions have ceased, focussed down on this one point in time.

“You have me,” John says, his thumb playing circles at Sherlock’s cheek. “If you want me.”

“Oh help me, you sweet heavens.” Sherlock says with a smile, “I do.”

John smiles back. And there beneath the bright lights, dressed in another person’s skin but knowing exactly who they are, and why they are, and what they will be, they kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by [Fleetwood-mouse](http://fleetwood-mouse.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, I wrote this little story. 
> 
> I really wanted to use Hamlet because its my favourite (hence, username) so I twisted the Shakespeare scene somewhat for my own ends, I do hope that's okay with everyone. 
> 
> I used [this website](http://www.shakespeare-online.com/plays/hamlet_3_1.html) as my resource for the quotations because I didn't have my text on-hand at the time of writing.
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://madopheliaa.tumblr.com) for more prompt fills or to send me a prompt of your own.


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